


Memories

by Oakwyrm



Series: Training Dragons in TI [8]
Category: Thrilling Intent (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - How to Train Your Dragon Fusion, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Memories, Not Really Character Death, Trans Gregor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 11:23:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12341700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oakwyrm/pseuds/Oakwyrm
Summary: Gregor goes through a box of old things he stored away for safe keeping as a child and finds among them a box that he doesn't quite recognize.





	Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Brought to you by the "Let Gregor Cry" campaign.

Gregor sneezed as a great cloud of dust wafted up into the air. Trying to hold back another sneeze he squeezed his eyes shut against the cloud and waved it away as best he could. The old, half-forgotten box of stuff that he'd brushed the dust off sat expectantly in the corner. Carefully he opened his eyes again to look at it, brushing some hair out of his face.

How long had it been since he'd looked through it? He couldn't rightly remember. Carefully he pulled it out from its spot against the wall. More dust shook itself loose and he thanked his foresight in opening the window before he did this.

As carefully as he could he opened the box and stared down at the contents. Topmost was an old winter cloak, much too small for him now. He picked it up and looked it over. The fastenings were still good but the cloth was frayed. He set it aside and looked back to the box, his eyes going over the multitude of small things his childhood-self had deemed important enough to be kept in the safest place he knew of.

Wooden toys in the shape of boats, dragons, and people made up the majority. They were littered with scratches and those few that had once had anything in way of paint decorating them had almost none of it left. He picked up one of the dragons and turned it over in his hands. It was missing a wing and one of its horns had a large gash in it from something or other. Some of the other toys in the box were slightly singed.

He set the dragon down on his old winter cloak and looked further into the box. A surprised laugh escaped him as he spotted his first bow pressed against the back of the box. Kyrlos had given him that bow when he was six. He pulled it out and examined it. The string had snapped long ago, never to be replaced. He was struck now by how small and light it felt in his hand. It shouldn't really have surprised him. He hadn't used it since he was eight, after all.

He scanned the box further, his eyes landing for a moment on a toy sword before he frowned. He put the bow down and reached into the box, moving some trinkets out of the way to reveal a small, dark box in the far right corner. His frown deepened. He didn't recognize this one.

Carefully he lifted it out and stared at it. It was a very well-crafted box, made of a sturdy, dark wood with intricate carvings adorning its lid and sides. Curiously he traced the twisting patterns until he reached his name, carved into the front of the box. It definitely was his then. His frown deepened. Something about the box unnerved him.

The lid creaked as he opened it to reveal its contents. There, on a pillow of dark red fabric, lay a necklace. At least he thought it was a necklace. It was definitely too small for him now but it would probably fit a child. He picked it up, setting the box down as he did so.

The pendant hung from its cord. Two dragons curled around an obsidian rune stone, one sleeping, the other guarding. Its green eyes glinted in the light. Gregor's discomfort grew. It was a protective charm, he knew that immediately but no matter how he searched his memory he couldn't remember where it had come from. He felt like he should, but nothing was coming to mind.

He got to his feet, stepping over the small pile of other stuff he'd pulled out of the big box and headed for the door, still staring at the pendant in his hand.

“Hey, dad?” He walked halfway down the stairs, glancing around the house. Kyrlos looked up from a report he'd been frowning at. One from the fishing crews if Gregor had to hazard a guess.

“Yeah?” he asked. Gregor held up the pendant to Kyrlos could see it.

“Do you know what this is?”

A shadow seemed to pass over Kyrlos' face for a moment as he looked from the pendant to Gregor. It was there for just a moment before it vanished, replaced by a smile that Gregor could tell was forced.

“I thought you lost it,” he said. “Your dad made you that when we adopted you.”

Gregor winced, his hand tightening instinctively around the necklace. He found his eyes drawn to the portrait that had hung on the wall for as long as he could remember. The silence hung heavy in the air. Gregor had been so young back then. He didn't remember much. The most he ever got that he couldn't have constructed from the portrait was a soft voice speaking words he couldn't quite make out and a feeling of warmth.

“He was a jeweller?”

Kyrlos chuckled. “Yeah. Damn good one, too. Made most of my chainmail when we were young.” He looked back up at Gregor, who hadn't moved from his place halfway down the stairs. “I never told you that?” Gregor shook his head.

“You don't talk about him much.” He pulled the pendant closer to himself. Kyrlos sighed softly and patted the spot next to him on the bench. Gregor quickly made his way over and sat down. Kyrlos ran a hand over his hair.

“How much do you remember?” he asked. Gregor shrugged, staring down at the pendant in his hands.

“Not much,” he said, keeping his eyes locked on the pendant.

“How much do you know?” The underlying question of 'how much have I avoided talking about him' didn't go unnoticed. Gregor tugged at a part of his hair in thought.

“His name was Zeke. I... I think he could sing but I don't know if anyone ever told me he could? Dao says he could throw his voice.” Gregor still wasn't looking up at him. Kyrlos stared up at the ceiling in thought for a moment.

“You're right, he could do both of those things. Dao tell you anything else?”

“That you two were nightmares?” Gregor said. Kyrlos couldn't help himself, he laughed. Gregor finally looked up at him, confused. Kyrlos shook his head slightly.

“Yeah, he would say that,” he fell silent for a moment. “Zeke... well, he would've liked everyone to think he was the definition of calm and collected. Had a short temper, though. He was impulsive, reckless, stubborn. Hated getting up early. Terrible at playing the flute, though not for lack of trying.”

Gregor turned the pendant over in his hands. “Did he know?” his voice was painfully small. Kyrlos blinked. “About me, I mean. Not the flute thing.”

“Oh! Of course, he knew. You were very clear with us about who you are.” Gregor breathed a sigh of relief, a weight he hadn't been entirely conscious of seemed to lift off his shoulders. Naturally, he knew he'd been very young when he started insisting people call him Gregor, he had precious few memories from before that, but he'd never been entirely sure how it lined up with Zeke's death in timing.

He didn't fully register that he was crying until Kyrlos pulled him into a hug. “I'm sorry, Gregor. I should've told you more about him. I should have and that's on me.” His voice sounded thick like he was holding back tears of his own. Gregor curled closer to him, trying to calm himself. He'd hated it, the possibility that his dad might have died not knowing him as, well, himself. He still hated how little he remembered and in that moment he didn't know whether his tears were because of relief or sorrow. He didn't care.

Kyrlos said nothing, merely focused on being a steady presence next to his son. His own grief and guilt could wait.

They stayed like that for a while, even after Gregor dried his tears. Kyrlos felt the space at his side where Zeke should have been almost like a chill. Gregor took a deep breath and detached himself from Kyrlos. He looked down at the necklace again and frowned. Eventually, he twisted the cord back on itself and slipped it onto his wrist as a bracelet.

Kyrlos gently ruffled his hair. “Feeling better?”

Gregor nodded. “I'm pretty hungry, though.” Kyrlos chuckled.

“Crying's hungry work and I'd say it's time for an evening meal anyway,” he said, getting to his feet. “How's nettle soup sound?”

“Good,” Gregor tried to stifle a yawn.

“Go take a nap. You sound like you need it.” He didn't quite catch Gregor's response but it was followed by the sound of footsteps going up the stairs and a door closing to Kyrlos assumed he'd agreed.

Kyrlos continued with his task in an almost mechanical fashion, his body on auto-pilot as his mind drifted. Zeke's jeweller's bench still sat in the same corner it had since he moved in, untouched since that night so long ago now. Kyrlos' movements stilled for a moment. He closed his eyes. He could recall in near perfect detail Zeke's face and his smile, but those were a given. He had never taken down the portrait and so his husband's image still looked out over their home, frozen forever in youth while Kyrlos found small patches of silver in his hair and beard.

It was the small things, details that made a picture into a person, that were fading. Things Kyrlos did not want to admit he could forget. A laugh, the sound of it long since forgotten. A soft voice, just barely remembered, singing their son to sleep. His bed no longer felt as empty as it should.

Kyrlos set the knife down and stepped back from his task for a moment. The things that Zeke had left behind, those that Kyrlos had not had the heart to throw out, seemed a cold reminder. A chest of old clothes, sitting forgotten in the corner. The jeweller's bench in perfect order, not a single tool out of its place, not a single work in progress anywhere to be seen. A flute sitting on a shelf of old trinkets gathering dust.

“We had better end up in the same afterlife, you hear me?” he said to the portrait. Zeke would have laughed at him for that. Pointed out that he had no control over that. Kyrlos shook his head and turned back to the cooking, and if his shoulders shook and his vision blurred that was no one's business but his own.

**Author's Note:**

> Welp. That's it for now, have a good day, goodbye.


End file.
